Pixie
by Eveilae
Summary: hi. read.
1. Whoo, close one

A/N:: I feel REALLY pathetic writing a Peter Pan fan fic. But I had inspiration. So that is that. And by the way, let's just say Pix lives in our age. As in right now!!!! ROAR!! Sorry.....  
  
My name is Pix.  
  
Not Pix as in a nickname. Pix, as in short for PIXY. I'm serious. My name was going to be fuckin' Twinkle, but my dad managed to stop my mom from naming me that. Instead I was stuck with Pixy. I hate the look that comes into my teacher's eyes when they see my name. Some are doubtful as they say, "Can you please pronounce your name for me please?" I tell them to call me Pix.  
  
I'm fifteen, with long brown hair that I managed to get blonde highlights in. I think it looks pretty good. I'm thin, and my little brother is thinner, which is scary.  
  
By the way, my mother lives in a mental hospital in London. Soddin' mad, she is. People used to think she was quite sane. I used to think so too. But then one day, she threw Danny out the bloody window. She said he was going to fly. He said he was going to fly as well.  
  
But he wouldn't have. He would have fallen to his death. Just because my mom had bloody convinced us that her little stories were true. So what if I had had a dream that I flew? It should have meant nothing. Nothing at all. But she had convinced me it had.  
  
And with me on her side, Danny would believe as well. Thank god my father caught her in time. I think I was ten at the time. She's been gone five years and I think we are better for it. Father is wonderful and we visit Mother plenty. I can tell she isn't getting better. I hear my father talking to the doctor on the phone every so often.  
  
His voice is always strained.  
  
He blames himself for not noticing it before then. For almost risking his own son's life in his ignorance. I, though, blame myself. I believed. I allowed myself to believe in that crap. And that's what it is. Crap. Absolute bull shit.  
  
There, I have described my family and myself, I think. Well, enough for now. One day I was having a sleepover with all my friends. We were telling stories of our childhood. This was a subject of much enjoyment, poking fun at each other's silly antics as children.  
  
When it came to my turn, I told them of my mother's tales and of my dream that had convinced me of the reality of the legendary Peter Pan. I called him Pussy Pan and we all cracked up.  
  
Yeah, I know it's immature. But that's how we were. Holly picked up where I left off and began with a long tale of a tall boy in tights. One day his tights break and must walk all across town with nothing on but a short and some silk material to hold.  
  
Yet another reason to laugh. Hannah jumped and we all asked her what was the matter. It was known that Hannah's hearing was much better than the rest of ours. So if she heard something, it was there.  
  
"I think I heard something by the window." We all looked over at the open window. "Well, close it, Pix," whispered Brenda. I was about to shoot back that I really didn't care much about it at all and if Brenda cared so much, she should close it herself. But the thing was, I did care.  
  
So I got up and moved slowly towards the window. As I drew closer, I felt something make me feel happier, maybe a more of a childish ignorance. I recognized it from that dream I had had all those years ago.  
  
I closed the window as quickly as I could. I breathed deeply when I saw nothing had attacked me. "Whoo, close one," muttered as I walked back to my friends.  
  
--  
  
The next Monday I woke up groggy and lazy. "Oh, dad, do I have to? I'm sick, I'm quite sure of it."  
  
But my dad being my dad, he paid me no mind and pulled me out of my comfortable bed. "Oh thanks." I rasped, yawning.  
  
"Get ready. I'll be late if you don't hurry." I paid him as little mind as possible.. I grunted as I went into the bathroom. I grunted with I received my breakfast. I grunt my goodbye before leaving to school. Grunt grunt.  
  
As I walked onto school property, I heard the flurry of rumors that could only mean one thing. There was a new kid in class.  
  
We were all expectedly waiting this new kid's arrival. The boys secretly hoped it was a girl, but pretended they wanted a boy. The girls wanted a boy and made it clear. I wanted to see which category I could put this new person in.  
  
If you look well enough, you'll see everyone falls in some sort of category. I put myself in the Popular Established group. Which means just from having lived here my whole life and being nice and pretty enough, I got myself a spot with the popular kids. Most of my friends were also PEs. I have some friends in the Gradually Popular group and a cute prospect boyfriend in the Jock group.  
  
There's also the Scary Goth group and the Punky Punk group. Both are very, very weird. God, how can you LIKE having chains all over you? It's disgusting. Thanks, but I like my body just fine. Tight clothes are much, much better. They show off your figure and you can get a boyfriend. That's pretty much high school for you.  
  
There are the nerds, and the Unknowns. The nerds are well, nerd. Not much more to say about them.  
  
Now the Unknowns are really, really weird. Some of wanna-bes. Posers. Whatever. But there's a group of Unknowns that are just that. Unknown. They don't make sense. They are Untouchables. If you speak to one, they'll be sarcastic or silent. Or varying between the two.  
  
Most are people that most don't want to talk to anyway. Ugly, annoying people. But some are just, beyond. They are shining white [sometimes black] beacons shooting through the halls at their own speeds, with a certain I- don't-give-a-shit attitude. One of those guys is the one I love.  
  
He is tall, red hair, Irish. His voice is deep, his skin is tan. He is sex- ay. I've wanted him from the moment I've seen him. But I know he is a wall to people like me. I've seen his expression of disgust when my friends and I walk past. He has favored most of my friends with curse words from his lovely mouth. I have not yet been so lucky.  
  
His name is Padriac.  
  
Back to the where we were.  
  
Anyway, a new kid was arriving. We were all talking at once in homeroom when I began to get hushed. First the front rows get silent. Then the lack of voices spread until even the Punky Punks in the back are silent.  
  
"Hi. I'm Peter." 


	2. Hello

"Peter?" the teacher begins in her normal conceding voice, "Will you give us the honor of knowing your last name, peter?" The class laughs. I hate the way she speaks to Peter, but what choice do I have? I'm not exactly going to go against the crowd of people, right?  
  
"Last n-I. . .er. . . Landon!" He almost screams the last part. I expect him to look embarrassed, but he just seems to be relieved. Whatever. He brings whatever happens to him upon himself, I tell myself.  
  
"Peter Landon . . ." the teacher has abandoned poking fun at the new kid, to my relief, and to everyone else's disappointment. "Yes, here you are. Take a seat, if you will. Britland will begin shortly."  
  
Britland is our version of a cool, student created show. Except, the only people who would DARE join something as geeky as that are bloody dorks. Surprise, surprise.  
  
We all groaned, as we are supposed to whenever Britland is ever mentioned. It is expected of us to hate it, of coarse.  
  
Peter looks over the room with his soft brown eyes. His eyes seem to stop when they reached me. I take it as my overactive imagination and look away. He heads towards the back of the room ,stepping over bags on his way. He doesn't get very far before John Paren sticks out his leg.  
  
Peter did not know what hit him. He tumbls to the floor, his books flying out of his arms. No one get out of their seats to pick them up. Laughter begins in waves. The whole class laughs, including me. What, was I supposed to stand up for him? A kid I don't even know? Dream on, dreamer. It's all men [or women] for themselves in secondary school.  
  
When Peter finally does get to the back, he realizes the seats are full.  
  
-.-.-  
  
It doesn't seem to faze him, these obvious attempts to make him show weakness. All he seems to show was confusion. This reminds me of Padriac. I don't want to relate this new kid to my knight in shining armor, though, so I try to lose that thought.  
  
I didn't describe him, did I? Peter is thin, but not too thin. He has brown hair and soft, shy brown eyes. He had a bright green shirt on [no wonder people make fun of him. What kind of idiot is he to WEAR that shit?] and dark green trousers. I only use the word trousers because they look like pants that could only be described as TROUSERS.  
  
Another thing that is so irritating about him was the fact that he doesn't fight back. He doesn't glare, he doesn't curse. He barely speaks at all, in fact. It is soddin' annoying. He should just yell out in outrage just to get everyone to stop trying.  
  
But even though I know that he deserves every little thing done to him, I can't help but feel as though I want to be his friend. The day he arrived, when I see him enter the lunchroom, I raise my hand to beckon him over.  
  
Ashley, seeing my hand raise, gasps. "Omg, what do you think your doing?!" she cries in her little voice. She is my least, er, how to say this. . .favorite friend, I suppose. If I can even consider her a friend.  
  
"Calling him over. I want to be nice and welcome him to school." I speak as if I had planned this. I hadn't.  
  
"Are you CRAZY?!" screams Holly. They all look slightly deranged with their faces all scared. They, as in, the PEs and some GP. I almost laugh out loud. "He's a nerd! I thought you HATED nerds, Pix. You're always going on and on about how they're worse than Punks and them people. What happened to your principles?!"  
  
"Whoa, whoa. Holly, he's NOT a nerd. He's. . .something else." I' never told them about my theory regarding everyone being put in groups. They won't like it. It's totally not normal.  
  
"He is SUCH a nerd. He is so-o stupid and he's annoying. God, he is childish and EVERYTHING! And YOU wanted to bring him to sit HERE. Ew!" Hannah ends her speech [that was a speech for her] with a sharp squeak.  
  
"Hello. " I look up to meet the bright eyes of Peter.  
  
"Hi," I begin, but I am interrupted by Georgina.  
  
"Get away, your twit. God, go back to where you came from. Under a rock. Ha ha ha!" She cackles and Peter recoils in fear. Or what seems like fear.  
  
"I'm sorry. I thought I was called here." He meets my eye again. This time I look away and roll my eyes so that everyone but Peter could see.  
  
"I called," I say. "I wanted to welcome you to London's best school. St. Joseph secondary school welcomes you. Retard." My friends and I crack up. But even while I am laughing, I sneak a look at Peter. He has on that annoying confused look in his eyes. But there is something in there as well. Sadness. And I can't help feeling guilt for causing it.  
  
I squash my guilt by just reminding myself of my ethics: that innocent souls like him never make it through secondary school.  
  
That's what home schooling is for. 


	3. Bad Planning

"You DO know that your mum would be pissed if she heard about how mean you were to that kid?" Granola, my grams, is my only confidante. I tell her absolutely everything. I never tell anyone that I confide all my secrets to my grandmum, of coarse.  
  
"Well, she might. But she has never really cared about me, has she? I mean, c'mon! The only thing she ever cared about was those stupid dreams of hers." I pouted, crossing one leg over the other. We were sitting in Granola's living room, watching the Exorcist. My grandma loves that movie. I personally dislike it, but I'm not going to give my grandma a reason not to want me to talk to me.  
  
"If that's what you think. . ." Granola placed her old hands on her lap. She glanced up into the screen, watching as a scarred girl cried out vulgar words to some priest.  
  
"Its not what I THINK, Granola. It's what I KNOW." My grams didn't look away from the screen, but I could feel she disagreed.  
  
And I didn't care, I thought to myself.  
  
"OMG, have you seen what he's wearing?" It was all over school. He was dressed as an elf. As an elf. All in green, with a nice little hat in everything. I mean, our school has seen weirdness before, but not like this. Not straight out weirdness, if you get what I mean.  
  
The usual jokes were going around, the Halloween ones, and a few cruel ones. I heard rumors about panting and egg pranks being pulled, but I never really found out what Peter went through that day.  
  
By lunch I can't help but pity him. I mean, there is no way even the most unpopular people would let him NEAR them. So I made a plan. During my last class, I quickly write a note on a small piece of paper. I stop every so often to make sure no one sees me, teacher or otherwise.  
  
I spend about twenty minutes after school searching for or, more favorably, his locker. I find neither, to my annoyance.  
  
But I hit some good luck, anyway. Some major good luck.  
  
Padriac not only NOTICES me, but he checks me out. My life dream has been accomplished. Now all I have to do is make this whole incident happen again.  
  
When I get home, I head up to my room to do whatever homework I can do on my overactive mind. All I can think is Padriac, Padriac, PADRIAC! And not all my thoughts are especially tame. I am ashamed to say some might even be NC-17.  
  
Ashamed because nothing like this has ever happened before.  
  
But my happy bubble is popped by my resourceful father. "Hey, honey! Guess who I met at the store today? A new mother from town. I invited her over for dinner. I think you could use the company with all the time you spend locked in your room. Her son is about your age, do you know him? His name is-"  
  
"Peter?" I offered miserably.  
  
"Yeah. How did you know?"  
  
A pretty stinky plan, sure, but a plan nonetheless. Actually, if I think about it, it was partly for penance, then just to be nice. And to make it worse, actually, I was thinking about homecoming, too. I knew I had little chance for winning something like that, especially as a sophomore.  
  
But if I won Peter over, I would at least get one vote.  
  
Now when Peter and his mum come over for dinner, I see a major difference between them. Now, I am not racist. It's just that I find it hard to trust blacks. I mean, all through out my family history we have had bad experience with blacks. There are no blacks in my grade, but I'm sure if there were, they would hate me.  
  
And I might just hate them back.  
  
And, as you've probably realized, Mrs. Landon is black. And Peter isn't. He isn't even a bit black. He's got a tan, but I can tell it's the sun kind of tan, not the my-mum's-black kind of tan.  
  
I looked at my dad, who seemed quite the gracious host. He didn't seem tense about her skin at all. Not that that surprised me. The bad feeling about blacks comes from my mum's side of the family.  
  
Danny runs over to Peter and wraps his arms around him like an old friend. But of course, Danny is also ten years old and not exactly the best example for courtesy. But Peter, being the weirdo he is, doesn't seem to mind. Peter pats Danny on the back and whispers something into Danny's ear. I get a flash of anger from Danny's surprised grin. I never get that kind of reaction from him.  
  
Ever.  
  
"Dinner is just about ready." My dad lets that sink in before he cracks up. "I've always wanted to say that! Come on into here, I've made my famous lasagna!"  
  
With a bunch of chatter our family and theirs enter the dining room. My dad worked to make this room clean and pretty for today. I don't like this new side of my dad, working hard to impress some lady, some lady who's not his wife.  
  
Not that I care what Mum'll think. Other people will start talking if they see my dad with another woman. A single woman, I note.  
  
Single with a child, no less. And, since I'm not really ready to just invite this woman into my life with open arms I begin with most insulting question I can think of. "So, where is your husband this lovely night, that he has not accompanied you to our home?" I get an angry look from my father and I shrug helplessly in return.  
  
"He's a couple miles away, I think. Six feet under, to be exactly." She says this in a jokingly tone, but her face saddens. My father attempts to lift up her spirit by telling her his best jokes.  
  
Mrs. Landon smiled politely at most of them, seeing as my father is not the funniest guy in the world.  
  
But eventually the conversation sparks up between my father and this woman, and I can do little but glare from under my eyelashes.  
  
Peter sits there silently, not having said a single thing since that message to Daniel. As soon as dinner is finished, I am surprised when my father asks me to take Peter to my room to hang out.  
  
As I roll my eyes and head upstairs, I mutter under my breath, "What am I, a decoy for the children of your love slaves?" But as soon as Daniel, Peter and I arrived upstairs, Daniel managed to drag Peter off to HIS room. So they both just LEAVE me there, standing in the hall like a lost pigeon.  
  
So even at the start my plan was beginning to fail. 


	4. Plans Are Hard

**BTW, I've never read the peter pan book [soz] and only the movie. Pix is selfish and preppy and horrible on purpose. She's horrible, isn't she? I guess I do my work well. xD. Thanks for the reviews, all!**

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It feels wretched to be alone. I cannot call any of my friends, because they don't even know about my plan. Grams would be so ashamed of me. I could not have done that to our relationship.  
  
So, I had to try out to get this plan going on my own. I had never been one to be things by myself. There had always been someone to help me.  
  
I am on my bed, contemplating my misfortune, when I finally decide to do something about it. I would get Peter in my room if I had to tie him up and drag him in there.  
  
My first action is to raid my closet. I have to make myself pleasing to the eye, which will get his attention in the first place, then begin with honeyed words and hidden charms. I spend as long I allow myself time to pick out the perfect outfit. It's my lowest red tank top, and my black short. Thank god it is a warm night, so my revealing clothes won't seem too out of place.  
  
I try out a couple of different walks before settling on one that moves my hips a bit, but not too much. I wanted to look good, not spineless. I slowly saunter, my walk getting more confident by the second, towards Daniel's door, the voices there barely audible, which is new for Danny.  
  
As I move into the doorway, and slide my arm up the side of it, I watch Peter with sharp eyes. "Hey." I say this in my most huffy voice, which my friend and I had agreed made me sound older and more mature.  
  
Peter looks up, but I don't get the response I'm hoping for. Instead of his gaze sliding down my body, which I had carefully prepared for him, he looks at me as if I have come ambling into the room with a huge, shapeless T-shirt and baggy sweats on.  
  
"Hello, Pixie." On his face is carefully etched a frown, and he seems to be unsure of something. But I don't pay this any mind, since I'm too busy worrying about the state of my plan.  
  
"Can I show you something? It's . . .well, important."  
  
"Important, is it?" He gives Daniel a sympathetic glance, and shrugs hopeless lopsided shrug. Daniel could do little to fight against this choice and as Peter got up, I sneak Daniel a victorious look.  
  
"Come on, Pete." I take his hand carefully, and I turn to look at him innocently. "I can call you Pete, right?"  
  
He is obviously confused again and I can barely restrain myself from rolling my eyes. "Okay, never mind, then. Peter it is."  
  
I lead him into my room, softly, as if he were a small puppy, unfamiliar with his new home. I urge him to sit down on my bed, but he refuses and plops himself down on the floor. I begin to understand exactly how impossibly naïve this boy is, but I don't quite believe it. Yet. It's still just another complication, but nothing I cannot overcome.  
  
I can see his eyes running over everything in my room, not judging, and just looking, as if through my room he might catch a glimpse of who I am. I wait patiently for his gaze to fall back on me, and I wait a rather long time, but at last it rests on me.  
  
"What was it you wanted to tell me?" He folds his legs into a crossed- leg position and the image shocks me with a feeling I don't understand. But I ignore the feeling and continue, sliding onto the floor next to him.  
  
"I don't know if you've felt it, but I know I have." I approach him, careful to show off just enough to get him, you know . . .  
  
Now to see if my plan will go off without a hitch.

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**THANKS FOR REVIEWING!!! I LOVE YOU GUYS** 3

**hopefully i'll soon be checking over this chapter and making it better!**


	5. Laughing at People is Mean

**I'm _so_ sorry for the lack of updates.

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"Felt what?" I just stare at him. I expect him to get it. But he just doesn't seem to. He stares at me blankly and I growl angrily.

"Peter, do you even know what sex is, for Christ sakes!" Of coarse this has totally ruined my plan; I can not hold back my impatience any longer. I expect him blush, or do **something** decent. But he just stares at me blankly. No way. He must be kidding- right?

"S-E-X. You know, the way you make babies. The birds and the bloody bees!" His blank stare is beginning to unnerve me. "Where were you raised!" I cry out in frustration.

"Raised? You mean onto a pole? Well, there was this one time with Cap't Hook-" I cut him off with one quick motion of my hand.

"Raised. Where did you grow up? In the middle of a jungle?" I stand up, staring at him incredulously. His naiveté is incredible.

"Are you angry with me?" He says this as if the thought of such a thing happening is to tremendously hideous a prospect. No one's ever really cared so much about my opinion of them. All the GPs and PEs are so consumed by themselves that they practically make up my opinion for themselves. My father likes to have me think he's a nice guy, but if it came to doing me good and having me hate him, or having me love him and letting me do whatever I wish to do, he'll choose to the enmity. While Danny on the other hand makes a good attempt to ignore me altogether. We don't get along well. Sometimes I wonder if he's ever let go of the Peter Pan stories Mum used to tell him.

Yet, for some reason, Peter cares. That's why he's looked so hurt when I've shunned him. That's why he keeps coming back for me.

It's not that bad a feeling, you know, to have someone care like that. I mean, he barely _knows_ me. Somehow that makes it all the more astonishing. Maybe that's why without thinking it out, without even wondering for a second what's in it for me, I sit down next to Peter.

"No, I'm not, Peter." My voice feels strange. I only let myself relax like this in front of Granola. Never in front of someone my age, especially a stranger. Especially a boy. But it's Peter Landon, some anonymous boy who cares about what I have to say.

"Good." His face splits into a wide grin, and holding his knees tightly, he leans back and forth, a laugh about to explode from his mouth. I reach over and cover his mouth before he can do anything else.

"Quiet. You shouldn't just explode in laughter like that," I chide, moving back once I'm sure the laughter has been quelled. I realize what I'm doing is ridiculously and childish. I stand up again, and begin brushing myself off.

"Why not?" I look at him sharply. Did I hear an angry edge to his voice? I had. His eyes look less carefree than they had before. Why is he getting all worked up because I don't want him laughing manically?

"I don't want you to laugh so loudly, is all." I sniff snobbishly, but I don't care. Who does he think he is, questioning my decisions while he is the guest?

"What's wrong with laughing?" He's stood up too, and he's staring at me with not only a confused expression on his face, but a furious one. I take a step back instinctively.

"Laughing for no reason is stupid. I mean, it's so _childish_. And I'm no longer a child." Giving him a sort of sideways glare, I continue slyly, "Are you?"

"If I am, I'm going to enjoy it every moment I can. Because if growing up means I'm going to have to laugh at other people instead of at the wonderfulness of life in general, then I'm never coming back here!" He crosses his arms, and stamps his foot. I almost giggle. He _is_ just like a child!

"Growing up isn't laughing at other people, silly. I mean, I don't laugh at other people. I laugh at a funny comment, or a silly act, or-"

"A silly person?" He's turned back to face me, and I'm caught by the pleading expression on his face. "What's so funny about a person?" He shakes his head. "I hear them at school, you know. I don't mind it, because if they feel laughing at someone is worth their time, then they aren't worth mine. But. . .I pity them. They're pathetic."

"What's so pathetic about it?" I retort angrily. "That we have the common sense to know what's stupid and what's not? And that you don't have that?" I go to the more and I push it totally open. "You know what, I don't like your opinions. I'm going to be honest." I stare at him intently, so he can be sure I'm dead serious. "I'm not even sure I bloody like _you_."

"I don't think I like you very much either. You're mean." With that he walks out. Mean! I almost collapse in a bout of giggles. Is that really the best he came come up with?

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**I didn't want the chapter to be this short, but I knew I _had_ to update. Another chapter will come soon. I would have added this sooner but I wasn't quite sure where I wanted the story to go from here. Now I know!**


	6. We're Off to See a Show

**Kewlausgirl, I love you. That review made my day, really. Hee. Actually, I have no idea if this is how secondary school is like in England. I don't live there, haha. But in my high school anyway, we don't have such a definite, stated hierarchy. I guess it's there, I suppose. There's no one this vicious, though.**

**I didn't update at first because my laptop didn't have internet & when I got it back, I was updating other things. . . or sitting around doodling and reading comics. grin**

**I'm not that down with Peter Pan characters really, but I'm thinking perhaps an Animorphs vs. SOME ANIME. Possibly YGO because they are so amusing.**

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**Chapter Six  
Pixie**

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I'm in school doing my usual rounds to see which of my friend I will find first. Maybe we'll cut class and go _wish_ we were smoking. Instead of my friends though, I spot Padriac, leaning again the tall willow tree outside the building.

Maybe I should go up to him, I wonder to myself. But he's talking to someone. I hesitant. That is, until I realize that person is bright green. Okay, it's Peter, then. How is it that Peter's first friend is my lust?

But the real question is should I go up to him? I mean, he could still be angry about the day before. He could totally ruin my image in front of Padriac. Or my image would improve in Padriac's eyes when he realizes I hang out with Peter, who is fine in his opinion. It could go either way. To risk it, or not to risk it, that is the question.

She decides to risk it. Swaggering over to the two guys leaning onto the tree, she pats her hair to make sure it's not sticking up. "'Allo, Peter," she greets the boy, but her eyes immediately flash to the elder of the two.

His red hair is falling into his face, but either he doesn't notice or he doesn't care. Either way it makes a shiver move up my spine deliciously as his eyes turn to look at me. He's wearing a shabby black coat, and black gloves which I catch sight of every so often, when he takes his hands out of his pockets. His green eyes are outlined heavily in black eyeliner, and stare at me eerily. Yet he's still just so . . . lovely, for lack of a better word.

"Hi," Peter mutters, but Padriac's voice immediately envelops his. "Who are you?"

I clear my throatpreparing myself for some hard flirtation—and I smile. No response. Okay, then. "My names P-" pause. Shit, my name. He's sure to laugh. But I can cover it up, I know it. "I'm Pix." Laugh. "My mother was-"

"I like your name," Padriac interrupts immediately. Some awkward silence. I need to take control of this conversation. Switch it over to me.

"So what's _your_ name?" I decide to ask about him instead. I don't want to blurt out his name when I'm supposed to be a total stranger to him. Do I look all right? I want to turn my head and ask Peter for his opinion, but I cannot. Anyway, how could the opinion of a boy dresses in bright green possibly be of any use?

"Padriac," he responds in a slightly muffled voice as he blows on his gloved hands several seconds after speaking.

More silence. I need to—

"You were telling me about the show, Padriac." Peter reminds Padriac gently, basically ignoring my existence. Is he ignoring _me_?

"Oh yeah, my band's playing our first original set, and I'm feeling pretty good about it." His voice has changed drastically, and I forget about my sudden anger towards Peter. Padriac sounds . . . happy? His eyes are shining and his lips are twitching as if they want to twirl upwards by their own will. He's talking to me and I'm so entranced by his lips I barely notice.

"What?" I answer intelligently. Oh, god, I feel like a complete idiot. He must have noticed I was looking at his mouth.

"Would you come? I mean" he clears his throat, and looks slightly nervous. "Come to the show? I can give you a ride if you need it, and . . . you might like it." Is he asking me out? In public? Well, probably not to any place where my crowd would ever show their faces so I probably don't have to worry about that, but still. I—

Fuck. This is Padriac I'm talking about. I've been insane about him for who knows how long? He's been what I've wanted but could never have. He is a sort of metaphor for my entire life. How many times will I actually get a chance to have a dream come true like this?

"Sorry," Padriac stammers, obviously taking my silence for displeasure. "I should have known you would have had plans or something." He shoves his hands back into his coat pockets and slumps a little lower.

"No, no!" I cry, perhaps a bit higher than I normally would have. "I mean," I continue, my voice a more normal tone, "I'd love to. When is this show?"

He doesn't exactly smile at me, but his mouth twitches massively, which I suppose in his case a grin. I inexplicably want him to do it again.

"Well, it's next Friday at seven at the Stone Pony. Need a ride?" He seems far more open and casual, just with my acceptance. I look at Peter with a small smile gracing my lips, but Peter isn't looking quite as carefree. In fact he's looking fairly angry. No jealousy, which might have been the only negative response I was expecting. He just looks annoyed at me, or disappointed.

What is his problem? Can't he see me enjoying myself? What, is he still irritated with me because he thinks I'm _mean_? Please tell me he's not so ridiculously juvenile.

I turn back to Padriac and I nod my head energetically, "Yeah, I wouldn't mind, if it isn't too much trouble." I could get a ride from my father, but why waste a chance to ride in the same car as my—whatever he is to me?

Almost at the same moment, it seems, we realize the main doors of the school have been opened and people are pushing to get inside the warm building. I see Padriac begin to move in that direction, and I impulsively grab his hand. "Peter, do you have a pen?" I manage to ask through the loud throbbing in my ears. It seems like forever before Peter passes me a pen, and I don't care.

I like the coarse feeling of his gloves against my palm. I begin to pull off the glove gently—and slowly in case he enjoys a great amount of personal space. Holding the pen tightly so that it doesn't slip out of my hand thanks to its abrupt clamminess, I write my address on his hand in clear letters so there's no mistake. After a second's hesitation, I scrawl my cell under it.

Then, without so much as a goodbye, I walk off. It feels good to have actually taken control of the situation, even it's its only at the very end.

LINE

The whole weeks seems to me to be a flurry of worry and plans and secret smiles in the hallway. My friends hardly notice the change in my attitude, except that I've been zoning out on them at 'critical' points of the conversations.

Oh my. What are they going to do, poke me every five seconds to make sure I'm being attentive?

Yes.

Goddamn it, I want to scream. I am waiting for Friday so passionately, and I don't want to hear about the gossip and stories about the sex and the fashions and the empty insults. I want to go over to Padriac, and throw my arms around his shoulders. Maybe peek into his hand to see if my address is still scribbled onto it.

And it comes, as I knew it would, as I had wanted it to, as I had hoped it wouldn't. I found myself sliding on the most casual thing I can find, a youth large black t-shirt and some worn jeans. I didn't want him to know I'd been looking through my closet for hours looking for a perfect outfit. I had, but I didn't want him to know so.

A knock. Oh shit. I should put eyeliner on, or something, shouldn't I? I rush to my bathroom, and I rummage through the shelves for the black pencil.

Another knock. "I'm coming!" I scream, I look in the mirror and remember my teeth aren't brushed. Screw it, I think as I sloppily press some eyeliner under my eyes. It looks dark and messy, which I've noticed is normal now. Good. I have to bring an apple or something so my breath won't smell like—

What was the last thing I ate? I run to my kitchen, snatch up an apple, and return to my living room. Okay, another knock, and I can finally open the door. So I do. He's standing there, in a torn band shirt, and leather pants, eyeliner and a dog collar with spikes. I grin, run for my green parka, and come back.

"Ready. Sorry about that." I scream a farewell from the door to my father, who is lock in his room on the computer, and to my brother who is—I don't know, I'm not that interested, really.

I lock the door, and look at Padriac one last time. It's Friday and I'm going to have as much fun as I can.

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**Sorry for the anti-long chapter! I just wanted to finish it tonight & its 230 in the morn. Okay, I've a got a question. Should this story go in a happy sort of direction, or in a less happy direction? I was actually planning on the latter, but after writing this chapter I think I may be going towards the land of the happy people. So which way? I don't think its going to affect the next chapter, but definitely after that it will. Some help? Don't make me choose this on my own!**


	7. When Moshing, Always Push Back

**Kewlausgirl : I was thinking of having her reach out to Peter anyway, sad or happy way. For the sadish way I was going to have betrayal (dun dun dun), but I'm not sure it'll fit now. And, yeah, I tend to slip from first to third without noticing. Sorry about that. **

**Yuki Asao: here's me, aiming for a longer chapter! And I'm not sure how well I'm doing withthat.**

**A/n: I think I might head for the sadder path. It's not going to be completely angst-filled & GASP a fic of mine where no one will eventually die!

* * *

I'm sitting in the car, and the music is making me fidget. It sounds like someone is stepping awfully hard on someone's foot. And there are guitars and drums and little children singing. I think. I don't know. It's not my kind of music. I can't even tap my foot to a beat and pretend I like it.**

"So," I begin, wondering if _I _should begin the conversation, or let him do so. Too late. "Who's going to be there?" I lean back in the seat. Casual, Pix, casual.

"Some local bands, really. Three Fingers Down, Anti-Curse, and Six Under Three are rather emo, but Drug Mules and Life Without Meaning are more screamo." These titles and bands just blow past me. I don't recognize them, nor do I have much of an interest in doing so. I'd rather stare at Padriac's lovely chiseled face, and hands on the steering wheel, his hair falling into his face. He's beautiful in my eyes.

"This band," he lets go of the wheel long enough to motion towards the radio, "is called Dimmu Borgir. Like 'em?" He isn't looking at me. Good, I can easily lie my way past this problem.

"Well, the _do_ sound the slightest bit familiar. But then again, I'm not that great with band names. I'll check them out in depth later, and see if I know 'em-" He cuts me off sharply.

"I asked if you liked them, not if you knew them," His voice is just the slightest bit curt, and it irks me just a bit. He doesn't need to get an attitude.

"Sure, I like them." My arms cross, and I frown, aggravated that I haven't been able to break the habit of crossing my arms when I'm annoyed yet. I uncross them, and twist a tress of hair instead. Great, now I feel like ditz. I cross my arms again.

"That's cool. Most girls I ask that to tell me that they're actually scared." He laughs, and swerves left. I give him an alarmed glance, and turn to put my seatbelt on. "Well, I suppose it _does_ sound like 'devil music.'" Another laugh, but it isn't followed by a crazed swerve, and I mentally sigh in relief.

After driving several minutes in silence, we arrive at large building, where some guys covered with piercing and tattoos are hanging out in front of. He parks nearby, and we end up walking to the building in silence as well. At the door he greets the crowd of people before brushing past them, and stopping in the doorway. I look past him at the man sitting in front of a small, primary school desk. Small pieces of paper-tickets- are splayed in front of him, and he grins at Padriac when he sees him.

"I thought emo wasn't you're _style_ Paddy." I fully expect Padriac to glower at the man. Or curse him out, whichever one comes first. Instead he tilts his head to the side for a moment, then laughs.

"It isn't," Pointing his thumb back at me, he continues, "but it might be hers." The man shifts in his seat to look at me. I'm about to flash him a smile, hoping to pass this 'inspection' when he doesn't look me over. That, all by itself shocks me into stupidity. I don't smile. He flashes me a grin. "Never been to a show before?" I nod meekly, unable to figure out how to act. All my rules and plans about tonight are being ruined, one by one.

I know how to act around guys who louses, who flirt, who check girls out openly. But not around a guy who won't even check me out. He reminds me eerily of Peter.

"Just let go, is all the advice I'm going to give you." He motions for me to come over to the desk, and he presses a stamp into my hand.

"What's this for?" I ask, feeling ridiculously out of place. I turn my hand and read the words _Happy birthday_ on my hand. Interesting. "And why does it say happy birthday?"

Padriac takes my hand, gives the man at the desk a wave, and pulls me through the corridor, where the sound of music is pounding through the closed doors. "It's so you can go in and out, and they know you paid," he answers quickly. He lets go of my hand when we reach the door, and he pushes it open for me. Semi-bowing, he grins at me—finally—and says, "Ladies first."

I smile back, a real smile, one that I don't keep in check so that my overbite isn't apparent. I don't have to worry about appearances with Padriac, I remind myself. I can be whatever I want to be. If it's rocker chick he wants, it's rocker chick, he'll get.

The music is throbbing, and the three guys on stage are thrashing with the music. "Awesome. This is Drug Mules." He takes my hand again, and I realize I like this feeling of having him be in charge. He can pull me anywhere, if feels, and I'll be fine as long as his hand's in mine.

We slither through the crowd, pushing and being pushed by some overexcited people. It's all absolutely, and deliciously new to me. The sweat, the smell, the noise, the people. Oh, god. I never realized that Punky Punks could ever be distinct from one another. But now I see that-

A girl bounds up to us, and launches herself onto Padriac's back. "Boo!" He cries out in surprise as she almost knocks him over. Grinning, and bouncing with apparent excitement, she laughs. "Sorry about that." Then turning to me, she shoots me a polite smile. "Hey."

"This is Pix." Then, motioning towards the girl, he says, "and this embarrassment's name is Juliette." She pouts, and her face contorts in a horrendous manner. She only keeps the expression for about three seconds before she cracks up. "You're a fucking asshole. I love you," she quickly adds. "Don't leave. Save me from Kirsten and her boyfriend. I can't stand just hanging about, watching them snog."

"They happen to be going out. I know the term is unfamiliar to you, but-" I feel left out. He knows this girl well, and she knows him well, and I'm the odd one out because I barely know him.

They continue teasing each other, and look over the girl carefully. Old habits die hard, I suppose. She's short, especially short, and her hair is cut in a strange fashion. There's a long bit of red hair on either side of her head, near the front, and the rest is cut rather short, and she's got long bangs. Her eyes are brown, and she's wearing a blue striped spaghetti strap and dark jeans. She's—plain, let's say and—

"What do you think?" she asks, interrupting my thoughts.

"Oh, I'm sorry, about what?"

"About how much dick Padriac sucks." She says this with a straight face, and I assume she's serious. My eyes widen in surprise. "I—what?" How am I supposed to answer a question like this?

She laughs. "Sorry about that, I was joking. I mean, don't you think Padriac should mosh? He's tall enough." She looks up at Padriac—who is several inches taller than she is—and glares. "Damn you, Padriac. The only reason I'm not in there is because I am an itsy bitsy little bug, and there are fat people moshing."

"You're not _that_ weak!"

"But almost nearly as!"

"Will _you_ mosh?" She turns to look at him, and I see Padriac is watching me too. What _are_ they talking about? Well, whatever it is, there's nothing to lose by trying right? And everything—including his respect—to gain.

"Um, ok. Sure." I give Juliette a small shrug, and a smile.

Smiling back, she begins to walk—or perhaps skip is a more appropriate word—towards the mob of people. Their limbs are flailing, and there are grunts of effort and possibly even pain. I wince just watching them. They're all sweaty and—ugh, they're gross. I don't want to _join_ them. What have I just accepted!

Juliette seems to see my hesitation, and chuckles. "Look, all that really is just pushing. Don't be afraid to use all your strength because," She points her thumb at the mob behind her, "they are." She grabs my arm—damn, she's pushy. I let her pull me, but only because Padriac is walking right behind me.

"Just go in!" she screams over the voice of the singer. Then, against all the things she had said to Padriac, she throws herself in. She's shoving like freak, and it makes me inch farther away from the crowd. I lose the girl in the mesh of people, but before I can turn away and say something incredibly witty to Padriac, a guy slams into me. I get knocked to the ground, and the air flies out of me.

Grunting, I pull myself up, with a few choice words on the tip of my tongue. But he's already beginning to shove himself in. Oh, no. I'm not going to let myself get pushed around—not in front of Padriac! I rush over to him, and I push him with both hands, as hard as I can. He falls forward into several people, and thanks to inertia, I follow suite.

There are too many people, and they're all pushing and shoving at me. I can smell—feel—their sweat rubbing against me. I want to gag. I suddenly remember what Juliette told me. Don't be afraid to push back. Okay, that doesn't sound too hard. I can't get my hands up, so I just shove lightly with my shoulder, just to get elbowed in the arm.

I curse loudly, and shove harder with my shoulder. Oh, I just want to get out! I push people left and right, and I shove and I'm about to start kick when fresh air rushes into my nose. Well, as fresh as air inside a building few of sweaty people can be. I move quickly away from the throng, and I wrinkle my nose in distaste as I feel the wet spots under my armpits.

I need to go to a bathroom, or something. I need to get this horrendous scent off me.

"Oh! Pix." It's Juliette.

I try my best not glare at the girl, but I don't know if it works. "That was horrible, I just want to you to know that." I turn away from her, turning my head this way and that in search for a bathroom. I hope our conversation is _over_.

"Padriac is looking for you. It seems he lost you." Her voice has gone from super friendly to serious. I spin around again to face her. She's not smiling. "Don't hurt him," she says slowly, carefully, as if she's unused to saying these sorts of things. "I don't know who you are, or how you two know each other, but you watch out." Then, a grin spreads across her face, and she points at a doorway behind the stage. "The bathroom is over there."

I watch her walk away, her walk calm, and sharp. I almost admire the girl, with her confidence and oddness. She doesn't seem to care what people think of her. That concept is new to me, and I've never really considered it. It is important what people think of you. When people think you're someone special, someone cool, you can—

You can . . .?

_What can you do?

* * *

_

**yay, my update access is back!**


	8. Nothing Beats Anime Mixed CDs

**Reviews are the loveliest thing in the world. Wolf's Rain by the way, is a manga/anime. My favorite anime, in fact.**

**The song near the end is a real song, obviously owned by Guns N' Roses (well, actually by the Rolling Stones . . . ) And the mixed CD with anime on it is real too. . .I'm listening to it this very moment. Tee hee.

* * *

**

The guys on the stages are playing their little hearts out, and their sweat is falling into the people in the front. This band is less angry than the ones before, and there's less screaming. I assume that the screaming ties in with the scream part of screamo.

It's not quite as well as I had assumed it would be, though it's not exactly my music of preference. It seems to be to be pure screaming, and who wants to hear that, unless they're mass murderers and love the pain and suffering of other creatures. Well, there's some sort of harmonic singing going on at the moment, and not screaming, so I feel that they're doing pretty well, music-wise.

"Hey, there you are." Padriac steps out from a small group of people, and grins. "I've been looking for you." I'm captivated by his smile as I usually am.

"Were you? Really." What is it about him that makes me squishy? No, Pix, I scold myself. Tell him what you've been working up the courage to say.

"I think I'd-" I begin in a low voice, unsure still as to whether or not I want to say this. "I have to leave now. I promised to be home early." Good job, Pix. Lying to your true love, it's the smartest thing you could possibly think of doing.

"Really?" He face shows surprise. A little bit of hurt? It could really just be my overactive imagination.

"Um, yeah." I run a nervous hand through my hair, and I smile sheepishly. "It's not you or anything, I just really have to be home tonight. Early."

"I'll give you a ride if you like." I whirl around to face Juliette. Who would think I want to see _her_? She shrugs and smiles gently. "You can't come back in once you've left. You'd have to pay again, and I think it's my time to leave."

"You're leaving?" Padriac raises an eyebrow. "Doesn't Kirsten need a ride home?"

Juliette grins cheekily. "Tell her I left, won't you? She can get a ride from Ant, as long as her mother doesn't find out. Anyway," she says, the grins gone and a nice, friendly smile in its place, "you _do_ want to see Jeff play, don't you?" With that she grabs my arm and pulls me towards the door. "**Bye**, Padriac!"

In my shock, I don't resist. Then, when we're outside in the cold, I pull my hand out of her grip. "You didn't even _ask_ me! I don't know you!" I glare at her, and I cross my arms over my chest. I will _never_ get rid of that habit, will I!

"I didn't want you to convince him to give you a ride. Jeff's his best friend, and there's no way I'm going to let you take him away from that." She keeps walking, and doesn't even turn to look at me. "You can't go back in, mind you. Unless you happen to have some extra money on you." I hate her! But there's nowhere else for me to go, so I find myself following her.

"I don't want to go with you, remember that."

She laughs, and opens the driver door to her bright yellow Volkswagon. "Come on in."

She starts the car and asks me for my address. I recite it in a bored voice, looking out the window at the other cars as I say it. I don't want to make more conversation with this girl than I have to. Stupid girl. She just _butts_ in with no thought to other people's opinions and ideas.

"Did he ask you to come, or did you invite yourself?" Juliette asks, breaking the silence. I glance over at her warily, but I answer the question nonetheless.

"He invited me."

"That's rather outgoing of him . . ." she murmurs, mostly to herself. I find myself crossing my arms across my chest, and I don't care anymore. Let her know I'm angry, that wouldn't be a bad thing. I'm not going to answer her anyway.

"You make me outgoing, too. What an oddity, isn't it?" She doesn't look up from the road, but I have freedom to look at whatever I choose. Oddity? Who the hell uses _that_ word?

"Why?"

"I don't know. That's why I said oddity. Now, if I were all New Age like Kristen, then maybe I'd say that you send out friendly, positive vibes that affect others and in turn cause them to be more like you." She briefly glances at me, and smiles. "Although the fact you seem to have a permanent frown etched onto your face isn't really supporting that idea, is it?"

"Who's Jeff?" I interrupt, really _not_ interested in the least about she's talking about.

"Jeff's only _Padriac's best friend in the whole world since __forever_. You'd think his girlfriend who know that."

"I'm _not_ his girlfriend."

"You were giving him quirky looks. I wonder if you're a seme or a uke . . . " She bites her lip thoughtfully, but doesn't look at me. What the blazes is she talking about!

"Huh?"

"Oh. I'm guessing you don't know what I'm talking about. Which is probably just as well. So, what do you _do_?" I'm beginning to hate the way she keeps changing the subject so smoothly.

"What do you mean by _that_?" I ask, puzzled. Why am I in the car with so erratic a person?

"I mean, you go to school, apparently. You go to shows. Do you stare at the wall with the rest of your free time?"

"No," I reply defensively. "I hang out with my friends." I expect this to be the end of it, but I shouldn't have expected something like that from Juliette.

"You do things on your own, don't you? Or are your friends somehow surgically attached to you?"

I am beginning to get _unbelievably _sick of this girl. Who does she think she is, acting like we're friends? I want to defend myself and indignantly reply that I _do_ do things at home without my friends, but I don't want to bring myself to answer her. I think she realizes this, and doesn't push the subject. Instead she reaches over and presses a button on her dashboard. Immediately, music surrounds me, and pounds in my ears.

It's not the kind I'd heard that the show, screaming and guitars and drums and a thrashing beat that makes my heart pop out of my chest. It's a soft beat, sort of like a piano. The lyrics are of a haunting sort, the kind that make your heart—

Juliette's sighs rip me from my reverie. "Wolf's Rain, you really are a gift from the Goddess."

I stare at her blankly. "The Goddess? Don't you mean God?"

She grins gently, and shakes her head. "No, I mean Goddess. I believe that Gaia, the Earth, itself as a thing to be revered and worshiped for its beauty and strength. Sure I believe in God, but . . . I suppose it's a wavering sort of faith." She says this loudly, through the music. "What about you?"

"What religion am I? Catholic, I suppose." I've never really much cared for delving into religion. I believe in God as much as the next person, but I have more interesting things to think about.

She laughs, and near runs through a red light. "The default religion, eh?" She laughs again. "Oh god, do I love this song. How about you?"

"It's nice." I respond curtly.

"Nice? Well, I suppose, to the untrained ear this may sound like an ordinary song. But to an insane animangsta like me, this song is a story." She sighs, pouts gently. Then she begins to sing along with the song. "Heaven's not enough, if when I get there I don't remember yooooou. And heaven does enough. You think you know and then it uses you. I saw so many thiiiings—what music do you listen to anyway?"

I'm shocked by how she completely changes her thought pattern so quickly. I should be used to it though, and if I'm smart I'll expect it in the future. What am I talking about! There won't _be_ a future! "I dunno. Whatever's on the radio, I suppose. A bit of everything."

She giggles softly. "Ah ha! A mainstream gal. What in the blazes are you doing with Padriac? You two are a Romeo and Juliet of sorts! A preppy mainstream girl and a punk rocker fall in love despite horrible odds. It does make a good story, don't you think?"

"I'm not a preppy mainstream girl. And _your_ name's Juliette, so if you like the story so much, you can reenact it yourself. Don't they die in the end anyway?" I don't like the way this conversation is going. It sounds like she's insulting me. I'm not used to being insulted, really. It's usually the other way around. In fact, I've teased girls like Juliette more often than I can count. I should be able to get back at her.

"Yes, they die. But they die defending their love to very end, which is as close to a reasonable death as I can imagine." She turns to face me briefly. "Do I make a turn here?"

I look out the window to check. I see a familiar street looming closely, and I nod quickly. "Uh huh, it's only a couple streets down." The song ends, and another one starts up, with a beat that sounds suspiciously like a helicopter's wings. A woman sings eerily in another language (it sure isn't English). "What's this now?"

"This is one of my many anime mixes. This song's called Inner Universe. Isn't it just the loveliest thing you'd ever heard?" If she expected conformity, she's speaking to the completely wrong person.

"Not really."

She _tsks_ with her tongue gently. "Poor, young'un. It's okay, you'll understand soon enough." I interrupt what could have grown to be a long lecture.

"That's my house right there."

She slows down in front of it. She whistles lowly and looks over the house appreciatorily. "Wow, that is one hell of house. I take back what I just said about poor." Then she laughs. "Now I'll feel bad about returning to my small hut in the forest. Damn you, Pix."

"You can close your eyes if you don't like what you see," I snap back at her, and I begin to get out of the car. Another song starts up, in English this time. "Another anime song?" I ask as I stand up.

"Yep," she chirps in response. I walk around the front of the car towards the sidewalk, but before I can begin to go up the walk towards the door, she rolls down her window, and calls me over. For some reason, instead of ignoring her and continuing my walk towards a nice normal night, I turn and lean towards the open window.

"What?"

"I was wondering, you don't seem especially adverse to my music." A fourth song begins in the car, and I raise an eyebrow. She may just be right. I have a thing for languages, truth be told. "I'm personally inviting you to an Anime Party tomorrow. Will you come? I would have made you an invite, but this is sort of short notice."

"An Anime Party?" I reply lamely. I barely know her, and I've been nothing but rude and she . . . invites me to a party?

"Yeah."

"Who'll be there?" Maybe Padriac will come . . .

"Well, if you say yes . . . you."

"You and me! How is that possibly a party?" She is so _odd_. Had she just made up this 'Anime Party' on the spot?

"Well, I could invite Kristen, but I don't think she'd come. Also, you're both complete strangers, and though she probably wouldn't be quiet and obscure, you might be. Or could just be your brilliantly friendly self, which is quite possibly worse. So, I assumed you and me would go down pretty well. Ooh, I like this song!" She turns and restarts the song, as well as raising the volume a bit. "See what you did? You made me miss a minute of that song!" She looks like she's making an attempt to look angry, but she's smiling too widely to actually succeed.

I simply blink at her. She is so strange. That should be reason enough to refuse her invitation. Yet . . .

There's something intriguing about her. The fact that she is so odd, probably. I've never met anyone like her. Or at least, I've never allowed myself to converse without anyone like her. Also, she's a close friend of Padriac. She can teach me how to be the type of girl that Padriac might want to spend more time with. Everyone wins, right? She gets a friend to show her 'anime' to and I get some pointers. And Padriac gets a hot, punk girlfriend.

"I'll come."

"Yay. Okay, then. What time would you like me to pick you up, then?" _Please allow me to introduce myself; I'm man of wealth and taste. I've been around for a long, long year . . ._ This song doesn't sound very foreign. Well, it does, but not in the way the others did.

Juliette seems to notice my pause, and nods knowingly. "This is a Gun N' Roses cover of one of the Rolling Stones songs. Sympathy for the Devil, I believe it's called." _I was around when Jesus Christ had his moment of doubt and pain . . ._

"Well, listening to this, no wonder you don't believe in God!"_Please to meet, hope you guess my name. Of yeah. But what's puzzling you is the nature of my game. I stuck around St. Petersburg when I saw it was a time for a change . . . _

"I _do_ believe in God. I just don't think he likes us very much. Or at least, _needs_ us very much." _I watched with glee as your kings and queens fought for ten decades for the gods they made. I shouted out, who killed the Kennedys, when after all, it was you and me . . . _

"I really don't get this song very much," I answer simply, raising an eyebrow at the lyrics.

"The devil's singing this, supposedly."

"Who killed the Kennedys, after all it was you and me? What's that supposed to mean?" I ask incredulously.

"I never thought I would use this expression but. . . if you need to ask, you can't possibly understand it. " _Just as every cop's a criminal, and all the sinners saints. As heads is tails, just call me Lucifer. 'cause I'm in need of some restraint . . . _

"Whatever." We both let a short silence fall as we both listen to the song, as the voice fades into the guitar.

"That guitar is so fucking beautiful. I'm so glad I grew up with this." She says slowly, closing her eyes and smiling slightly. For some reason it seems to be the realest smile she's given me all night.

"You grew up with this?"

"I sure did. My father put Guns N' Roses on for me when I was a little sproutling. I remember being a little baby and loving the vinyl with the four skulls on it." She laughs loudly. "And people ask why I'm so morbid!" Another short silence, and the song ends, sliding easily into a slow song in french, or at least, I think it's french.

"Come at ten, alright?" I want to leave all of a sudden. I can only take so more weirdness at a time. She nods, but doesn't look up at me again.

"Tata, then. Have a good night." Before I can respond similarly, she rolls up the window again, and drives off without another word. I let out a breath I hadn't been exactly conscious of holding in.

Why? Why had I been so nervous? If I had really, really asked myself at that moment why I had accepted Juliette's invitation, or why I had been so friendly to her, and if I had been honest with myself, I would have come to a simple conclusion. I want Juliette's approval, just as I've always wants the approval of my friends. Except this time I don't want it to acieve popularity or status. I want it for . . . me. Because, deep, deep down, in that tiny, hidden part of me that liked the music I'd heard in her car—excluding the devil one, that one was either too deep or just too _wrong_ for me to like very much—liked _her_.

I wanted to be her friend, just for the purpose of being her friend. Of course, I didn't admit this to myself; I convinced myself that I was only doing this out of pity for her, when in fact it was probably the other way around. I walk into the house, and I let myself in. I fall onto the couch, exhausted, and I just lie there until my eyes close of their own accord, and I fall into a restless sleep.

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**I decided that I would not stop writing until I finished this. So I complete this chapter at 334 in the morning (though, it should really be 234 because of Daylight Savings Time, but who's counting?) Enjoy.**


	9. Anime Parties are Fun

**The character called Peter is actually Peter Pan. Yeah, he hasn't been in the last few chapters, but he'll be in this one. Sorry about that. I'll try to involve him more later on.**

**DON'T DO THE ILLEGAL THING MENTIONED IN THIS STORY! Why? Erm . . . come on, I _know_ there's a good reason for it!**

**The Vampire Lestat isn't actually about Satan. I just opened up a random page and saw the word Satan and decided I would use that. I hope I didn't discourage an potential Anne Rice fans from reading that book (or any of her others). They're quite good.**

**The song mentioned is Rewrite by Asian Kung Fu Generation from the anime Full Metal Alchemist.**

**Pix liking anime might be a bit out of character (is she even developed enough for that to happen?) but I wanted someone to share in Juliette's (and my) love for it. So there you go.

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**

_You never need to grow up_. I'm floating. Is this what freedom feels like?

"Pixie . . . wake up!" My eye flash open and I find my little brother's face inches away from my own.

"Whoa! What the hell are you _doing?_" I push myself up, and I glare at him. God, can't he wake me up without yelling something in my ear? Stupid little brat. I run a hand through my hair, only to find it full of knots. I growl, and jump off the couch.

"You didn't wake up when I shook you. Why are your eyes all black?" I grunt in response as I amble towards the nearest mirror.

I look like crap. My hair's a mess, and my eyeliner is smudged worse than the night before. Then I glance at the clock. "_Shit! _Why didn't you _tell _me it was so late?" The clock face says quite plainly, 9:45. I rush upstairs without listening to my brother's answer. Okay, I have to shower, and get dressed. _In fifteen minutes?_ It's hopeless. I rush into the bathroom and strip rapidly. I take about ten minutes in the shower, and I run into my room, shivering from the exposure to the cold floor.

In my closet I find my biggest challenge. Damn, what should I wear? I don't even know what Juliette's like. What would she consider nice? I rack my brain as I look through my closet. Well, what was she wearing yesterday? That blue spaghetti strap and jeans. She's casual. The casual type. Okay. I pick out a black baby tee and some tight jeans. I pull the clothes on, with a clean bra, socks and thong. I run back into the bathroom, and I grab the toothbrush to brush my teeth as thoroughly as I can in about three seconds.

When I'm through, I run back downstairs and I look at the clock. It's . . . 10:15. "What?" I cry, stepping closer to the clock as it's lying to me. When I verify that it really isn't lying, I look around the living room for my brother. "Danny! Did someone knock?"

"No!" comes a muffled voice from the kitchen.

Damn! All that rushing, and she's _not coming_? Did she do all this to embarrass me, or something? Suddenly, the doorbell rings, interrupting my thoughts. I run to the door, and I pull it open violently. She's standing there, breathing heavily, and grinning at me through her long bangs. "Sorry. I woke up late."

I can't help it. It's all so ironic that I start laughing. Immediately, she joins in and we're both standing there laughing at—what are we laughing at? I don't know, I don't think she knows either. We're just laughing at life, for the sake of it.

"Well, you ready?" She asks gently. I nod my head and turn away to get my coat.

"Danny, tell Dad I've gone to a friend's house when he gets home, alright?" I hear a muffled sound of consent from the kitchen, and I lock the door on my way out.

In the car we travel mostly in silence. She's go the same CD on, and she either hums along with the songs or sings softly. We say a few things back and forth, but she seems more subdued than the day before. We turn off a busy street onto a quieter one. I look around the small, messy houses. It's an atmosphere I'm totally unfamiliar with.

She stops in front of a light gray house, with rusted railing on the stairs, and a messy front lawn. "Welcome to my humble abode. And by humble, I mean _humble_. " She laughs and turns off the car. I follow suit, silently. This house really does look small compared to mine. In fact, I've never even been around this area before. It's the bad part of town at all; it's just the lower middle class part.

Instead the house, I'm greeted by a woman in the kitchen looking up at me blankly. "This is Pix, Ma." The woman gives me a nod, which I suppose counts as a greeting. In the other room there's a room with a TV in the corner, and two couches and an armchair spread around the central rug. There are several baskets with clothes in them on the selfsame rug, and a little girl seated on one of couches watching the television set silently. "This is my little sister. Say hi, Shelley."

She looks up at me, and stares at me for a couple of seconds. "Hi." Then she returns her attention to the cartoons on the screen once again. Juliette rolls her eyes at me, and turns to walk up the stairs. I glance at her mother for a second before following her up. Her mother yells something up at Juliette in a foreign language and Juliette answers back in an exasperated voice, "_Lo se!_"

Up the stairs there is a very tiny room of sorts, which has four doors, not counting a small one against the wall which apparently seems to lead to the attic. Juliette opens one of the doors, and pulls me into her room, closing the door after us.

I am assaulted by complete messiness. There are clothes strewn all over the room, mostly on the floor. The bed isn't made and there are three teddy bears lying on it, a huge brown one, a slightly smaller one of the same color, and a tiny white one. There's a stereo on a small bookshelf, which is filled with books. That's hardly anything compared to the taller bookcase, which reaches up the ceiling, completely filled with more books.

She laughs, noticing my expression. "I see you've noticed my books. I suppose there's a reason why my friends all it a library." Right next to the tallbookshelf, there's a short spinning display with CD cases in them.

"You don't have nearly as many CDs as you have books." She laughs and shrugs her shoulders.

"I suppose. But I'm getting mighty close." I raise my eyebrow, but I don't say anything. There can't be more than thirty CDs on that spinning display, and there are _far_ more than fifty books on the shelves. I hear her opening the closet door and I turn. Once again my mouth opens wide and I find myself gaping. There must be ten CD cases in there! "There's at least twenty CDs in each one. You can look through them if you like, and see if I have anything you might want."

She sits down on a purple chair and rolls herself over to a table next to a window. "How's my little _baby_," she coos at the computer lying on the desk. There are papers completely covering the rest of the surface on the desk. I pick one up only to have it quickly snatched out of my grip. "No." She's looking at me with an embarrassed look on her face, and she chuckles lightly. "Those are my stories. I don't like having people read them." She puts the paper back on the pile and pushes the papers to the side.

"Um . . . " She looks around nervously. "There doesn't seem to be another chair here, does there?" She sighs and stands up again. "Hold on, I'll go get one." She leaves me in the room, standing there like an idiot. Okay, then. What can I get about her from this room? She likes music and books apparently. And her computer. I see I black thing sticking out from under the papers. Carefully avoiding the paper, so as to not accidentally read something, I pull it out. A laptop? She has a computer _and_ a laptop. How is this girl _not _rich?

I hear grunting behind me, and I whirl around guilty, pushing the laptop back under the papers. I see Juliette lugging a chair into the room, and placing it on the ground gently. "Damn," she gasps, putting a hand through her hair. She picks up the chair again, and this time puts it down in front of the computer. Seating herself on the purple, comfy chair, she leaves me no other choice than to seat myself on the harder chair she brought up. She's not a very good hostess, is she?

"Okay, then." She rubs her hands and grins at the screen, before turning to me. "Which do you want to start out with, beautiful art with a dark plot, or a less wonderful art, funnier anime with a plot that's less dark?" I raise an eyebrow. What _is_ she talking about? Anime, I assume, but . . . how am I supposed to decide something like that? Beautiful and with a dark plot or less beautiful, funny and lighter?

"The second one please." Okay, so it wasn't that difficult. She pouts slightly and grunts in response. "Fine. Wolf's Rain will just have to come second then. I still love you, though," she coos at the screen.

"Um. Please stop doing that." She looks over at me and grins. "You aren't the first person to say that to me, and I doubt you will be the last." Then she moves the mouse around, clicking intensely until a media player opens up. "Thank you god of free, illegal downloading!" she cries, looking up at her ceiling, and pressing her hands together in a gesture of prayer.

And then the images begin on the screen. I watch, sure I'm going to be bored, for the first few minutes. Then I . . . fuck, why should I smoothly cover this up? I, one of the most popular girls in school, a pretty hot sixteen-year-old (if I do say so myself) fall in love with anime. Or more precisely with Edward Elric. I have no shame.

* * *

_kishin da omoi o hakidashitai no wa  
__sonzai no shoumei ga ta ni nai kara  
__tsukan da hazu no boku no mirai wa  
__"songen" to "jiyuu" de nujun shiteru yo  
__yugan da zazou o keshi saritai no wa  
__jibun no genkai o soko ni miru kara  
__jiishiki kajou no boku no mado ni wa  
__kyonen no KARENDAA hidzuke ga nai yo_

Peter looks up at me in surprise. "This is Juliette's song!" I laugh gently, and I run over to my stereo and restart the song. Stupid Juliette, she's rubbing off on me!

"Well it's not _her_ song. It's Asian Kung Fu Generation's song. So ha!" I sit on my bed and hum along with the song, a small smile on my face. I'm not that great when I sing in languages I don't even understand.

If I were to shut off the music, I know I would begin to here incriminating noises from below, and I don't know if I could stand that. In fact, I know I wouldn't be able to. The fact that Peter is here, at my house again, can only mean one thing. That his mother has accompanied him. I've grown to _stand_ her, as long as she doesn't give me any shit. But if my father hits on her any more, I won't be able to control myself. And it's not out of loyalty to my mother. Never. Not at all. I hate my mother.

I've had to convince myself of that more as of late.

It's been about two weeks since that show, and that first Anime Party. I say first because I've been to about five. Usually it's Juliette and me, but sometimes her friend Kristen, or Peter accompanies us. We're on episode ten of fifty-one, only, unfortunately, but Juliette's promised to burn me the next five so I can watch them on my own computer.

As it turns out, Kristen goes to my school. I don't think she has a very high opinion of me, really. Especially since I brushed her off a bit at school. I'm not ashamed of it. I don't want my _real_ friends to know about these 'others.' Even Padirac. Although, with _him_, I allow myself to speak with in school. I think he also doesn't want to have people connect the two of us. It would hurt more if I weren't doing the same thing myself.

Peter's turned out to be more sweet than annoying. He's like a small child, in several ways . . . slightly irritating in his complete ignorance and naiveté, but enduring at the same time. I've tried to assist him, clothing-wise, language-wise, etc. I've even been with the _mall_ with him, but I had the excuse of him being my little brother lined up in case I met anyone I knew.

"Asian Kung Fu . . . Generation?" He asks in a halting voice. I nod my head in assurance. Peter's like a small child in that way as well. He wants endless amounts of attention and good responses and that is about all he needs to be content. He flashes me a large grin and turns away, looking around my room again. He does that a lot. It annoyed me the first few times, but by now I'm completely used to it.

"Peter . . . has Padriac _said_ anything about me?" I've been trying to cunningly sneak this question into our conversation, but Peter never seems to get it. I always end up asking him things directly.

"About you? Erm, not that much. He said he has fun with you, once, and he laughed like something was really funny." I decide to take his laughter for a compliment. I smile at Peter, and he looks happy again. Good, simple, easy. If only everyone were so easy to please.

"Satan is our Lord and Master. In Satan, all is understood and all is known. Armand pleased-" I gasp, for a moment thinking Peter was saying these things. Well, he _was,_ but he was only reading out of that stupid book Juliette had left at my house accidentally. Even if she's only in my house for a couple of minutes, she always manages to forget something. It's like a talent.

Except for when she leaves these stupid vampire books around and I'm forced to sleep in the same room with them. How am I supposed to sleep peacefully with a book like _The Vampire Lestat_ sitting on my shelf, gathering dust (because I don't touch it unless I _need_ to)? And now it seems I need to. I can't live a book about Satan in the hands of an impressionable person like Peter! I pull the book out of his hands, and I shut it, all in one fast, sloppy movement. Then I toss it under my bed, and I moan, instantly regretting it. If I can't sleep with it on my shelf (a good five feet away) how will I sleep with it right under my bed? It's not like I'm going under there and getting all _dirty_. Yuck.

"Stupid book," I mutter. "You don't think you can talk Juliette out of reading those sort of things, right?" Peter looks confused, and peeks under the bed for a second.

"What's Satan?" I shake my head, silently cursing Juliette's morbid taste in literature (more like her morbid taste in _lifestyle_).

"Don't worry about it, Peter." I walk over and tenderly ruffle Peter's hair. Funny how a sixteen-year-old kid doesn't know who Satan is. I wonder about those things sometimes. How Peter doesn't seem to know more than a child would about adult matters. But mostly, I find it comforting. He doesn't expect more of me than a child would. He doesn't expect me to be smart, or hot, or religious. He not only doesn't care about those things, he barely seems to _know_ about them.

But Peter's cute so I stand him. He's like the little brother I never had (Danny's sometimes so mature I feel that _he's_ the older sibling, so he doesn't even count).


	10. Think Before You Speak

**Sorry for taking a while to update. I've been watching Naruto and Bleach like mad. I've even got myself ANOTHER fanfiction going (I'm going to go mad with all these fanfics going on at the same time). Hope you enjoy. Thank you all for staying with this irregular fic this long! I'm starting to close it up (finally). The next chapter might be the last.**

**Do The Misfits tour in the UK?**

**Did I mention Edward Elric is from Fullmetal Alchemist? Because he is.**

**Is it just me, or did the narrative change drastically in this chapter?

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CHAPTER TEN **

The weeks pass like the lingering smell of pine days after Christmas. It's wonderful, and its good, but you know in the back of your mind it won't last forever.

It doesn't.

Isn't it strange, how you can go on and on about your misfortunes and the horrible times you've had, but when it comes time to talk about the good things, words fall short? Either that or you get tired of talking about it. If Juliette were telling this story this would no doubt be where she would put something cynical about human nature. Maybe, 'humans are always searching for ways to redeem themselves for their sins, that they perpetually cling to the pain as if that's all they deserve,' or 'humans are masochistic by nature,' or even 'people are looking for excitement, even if the excitement is shrouded by pain and suffering.' Juliette's very shrewd that way. She's also very opinionated that way.

I suppose I know her very well by now.

I grow to respect her, over this time. She's got amazing memory—when she puts in the effort to pay attention in the first place—and she's very passionate. She wants to make a different in this 'sedated society' and open people's eyes to the suffering 'enveloping our world from the inside.' Maybe I respect her because I know I can never be like her.

My mantra has always been to mind my own business. I am the most important person; no one matters more than I do to myself. If people are dying around the world, this has little to do with me. And anyway, how am I supposed to help? I'm not going to be a doctor, and I'm not going to become some sort of activist that pours blood on women in fur coats (I hid my own fur coat deep into my closet because of Juliette). I don't have that kind of conviction, or that kind of bravery. It takes courage to stick your neck out for what you believe in.

I also want to live a long life. Juliette pointed this out to me, and I can't deny it. Look at the long list of people who tried to change the world. Most of them have either been assassinated, or they corrupted by power. It's like signing your own death warrant.

The days with Padriac seem be to heaven-sent. He's very demure, not very passionate about anything, and funny. How Padriac and Juliette got along at all, I had no idea. But they did, and they invited me to shows with them.

I remember distinctly one specific show. He took me to see The Misfits (a punk band whose CD he let me borrow a week before the show itself so I could acquaint myself with the music) where we met up with Juliette, Kristen, and a couple of their friends. Juliette and I talked a bit, but I could see Kristen was definitely ready to move away from me. I _knew_ she didn't like me, and I was glad Juliette disregarded that fact, in spite of Kristen being her best friend. Anyway, Juliette and Kristen strayed off (no doubt to try their luck in the insane moshpit or crowd surfing), so I stayed with Padriac most of the time. During the three opening bands we loitered on the side bars (I wouldn't have drunk anything but Padriac offered me some, and what was I going to do, refuse? He'd think I was some sort of loser who didn't drink alcohol. Personally, I hated the stuff he gave me, and I drank that one cup in small sips), but during The Misfits themselves, we shoved ourselves closer to the stage.

And he held me. He put his arms around me from behind and held me the whole hour they played. Even if they weren't as good as on the CD (Padriac told me later that they hadn't played with anything _near_ their original lineup), I was in heaven. Padriac, my dream man, was holding me. When Juliette came to say goodbye (nursing what looked like a sprained wrist, a bloody nose and a happy grin) I was so high up in the clouds I could barely force my mouth to speak.

He was sweet. I fell more in love with him every day. I assumed he felt the same.

I grow to like Peter more and more as well. It's probably his naiveté that gets to people, but he's so carefree about things that you can't help but love him. He's passionate and headstrong, almost as much as Juliette, but in a completely different way. He cuts class with Padriac, but not to join the crowds of smokers, or the junkies, but to go play in the playground three blocks away. I would have joined him, but I didn't want my friends asking where I had been.

It's not like I could tell them I had been with the faggot (their newest nickname for Peter).

Which brings me to about a two months and a half after that first show.

"Pix," a girlish whine reaches my ears, which snaps me out my of Edward Elric fantasy (it doesn't count as being unfaithful because he's not real!).

"Yeah?" I ask sluggishly—but in a very _cool_ way, if you know what I mean—and I look over at Holly. We're over at Brenda's house, giving each other makeovers. I'm playing around with Hannah's eyes (this girl at the last show Padriac had taken me to had had an interesting idea with her makeup and I wanted to test it out. I told Hannah I wanted to make her look like Frankenstein's Bride), and Holly is doing Brenda's hair.

"I heard this _rumor_. I didn't want to believe it, I mean _Amanda_—yeah, that slut—likes to gossip her ass off as if she _knows_ anything . . . but . . . you _have_ been acting a little off lately. I mean, what was with that _hair_ last week?" Peter had asked me the week before why I never wore pigtails. And he annoyed me until I agreed to wear them.

Bad decision, apparently.

"I wanted to try something different," I reply airily. "What's this rumor, then?"

"Well," Holly puts on her most scandalized face, and pauses in her task to face me. "_She_ told _me_ that you've been seen hanging around with that Punky Punk crowd. I don't know how she would even _know_, you know?" I can tell she's going to go on, but suddenly, I feel a spurt of courage. Is Juliette rubbing off on me?

"I am hanging out with them," I answer easily, and I don't look at Holly as I continue to lay the eyeliner on Hannah heavily. The silence weighs heavily on the four of us and there's only so much one people can ignore. I finally look up at Holly, only to see not only her, but Brenda and Hannah, too, staring at me as if I grew another head. Possibly a third head.

_Would you kiss your third head if it were, say, Edward Elric?_ Juliette-type questions occur to me when they are most unwelcome, which is more proof I am hanging out with her _too_ much.

"No _way_, Pix. No fucking way." But Edward _is_ really hot, and I don't see the—oh, she's not talking about that, is she?

"What's so _bad_ about it? I've got a boyfriend that loves me, friends that I like . . . really, Holly. What's wrong with that?" I'm standing up, and I'm towering over her, hands on my hips and a stubborn expression on my face.

"What? We aren't _good_ enough for you? We accept your weird quirks, and you have the _nerve_ to tell us we're not good enough for you? And _what_ boyfriend?" Holly looks about ready to implode, and I think it would be awfully hard to wipe the guts off my—TOO MUCH TIME WITH JULIETTE!

"You guys are great, too!" I quickly pip up, beginning to regret my sudden outburst. I should have denied it, damn it. Now I've shot the rest of my life to _hell_.

"_What boyfriend_, Pix?"

I hesitate. Should I deny it, and pretend I meant something else . . .?

No. A strong voice in the back of mind steps up. No, it keeps saying. I've noticed that its voice has gotten louder and louder lately. Ever since Juliette—no, ever since Peter. By now it's deafening.

"Padriac." Firm, Pix, firmly. "Padriac is my boyfriend."

More scandalized gasps, more whispered cries of denial.

"Poor, darling," Holly coos as she approaches and wraps her arm around my shoulder. "It's okay. All you need a little bit of _perspective_, that's all!"

"No, I don't!" I cry, pushing her arm away, savagely. Her expression looks surprised, and hurt, but I don't care. I'm tired of trying to hide.

"Look, Pix, I _refuse_ to accept this. I _know_ you. I know that if you were in your right mind you wouldn't even look twice at that loser." Holly's face has gotten hard, and soft at the same time, like it does at times when she's trying to help by being strict. "You _have_ to break up with him. Look at what he's _done_! He's destroying our friendship, without even trying! We always agreed friends before boys, remember?"

She looks almost sad. I'd almost forgotten that these girls _were_ my friends. They would be selfish and snobby and rich and absolutely irritating at times, but they were my friends. They were the complete opposites of Juliette, Peter and the others. It would feel too much like betrayal to leave them hanging like old leaves. That's something the old me might have done, that weak, sniveling Pix. Not this new me.

Even if it broke my heard to pieces, I would break it off with Padriac. We could always be friends, after all.

I nod to Holly, and we forget all about our makeover. Instead we sit in the middle of Brenda's (king sized) bed, like we used to years ago, and we gossip. I don't think they notice I don't try very hard. My heart just isn't into it.

LINE

I call Padriac the next day. "I have to talk to you." I hope that my voice warns him somehow of what's to come. I image the horrible scene that's waiting for me. Will he cry? Will he be strong and just make his face turn to stone? Will he understand, and agree to be just friends? I have no idea. Even knowing him so well, I don't know.

We meet up under the bridge that is almost exactly between our homes (we made this discovery one day and that became a common meeting place. Sometimes we invited Peter, or Juliette, or Kristen, or the others along).

He swaggers closer, and my heart beats faster just at the sight of him. I feel pleasantly pathetic . . . at least until I remember what I have to do.

He grins as soon as he sees me. "I've got something to tell you, too."

I want to stall before I do the inevitable, so I agree to let him go first. He looks amused, so it must be good news. I want him to be happy before I break his heart.

"Pix . . . you are such a stupid fucking whore."

* * *

**I am so badass. CLIFFHANGER! Don't worry, I won't make you wait long. The next chapter will be up LATEST next week. I might have ended the story in this chapter, but I wanted to update. So here you go. **

**Review PLEASE.**


	11. Forgiveness

**Here we got, the final installment of Pixie. This started out as a whim, erm, how long ago? Whoa, a year and a half ago! I thank every single reviewer, especially the ones who've been sticking with this story after so long. I never would have stuck with this story if not for all of you.**

**And this what, my third story I've ever finished? **

**Gaara is from Naruto, Edward is from FMA, Warheads aren't mine (very yummy, but not mine). I believe that's all the copyrighted things mentioned.**

**

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Chapter Eleven**

"What?" Did I hear him wrong? Why would he say something like that to me?

"You heard me. But I'll say it again anyway, because I like the look on your face. You are a stupid whore." He's smiling at me, and everything about him seems so _normal_. Except for those knife words spilling from his lips.

"Is this some sort of joke?" Of course it is! What else could it be?

"No. This is what I really think of you. The past few months have been _hell_. But it'll be pretty worth it. I think." He puts on a thoughtful look, and smirks at me. He's never smirked at me before. Why is he doing this? Are those _tears_ running down my face?

"Padriac, what's _wrong_?" He must be in a bad mood. I _know_ him, there's no way he could say these things to me and mean it. He loves me.

He growls and grips his hair in two hands, as if he's going to pull it out in frustration. "Don't you get it? Are you that _thick_? I was playing with you. I never liked you at all, actually. I always thought that group you embedded yourself in were all . . . scum. Including you."

Is this true? Have I been in his eyes simply a bitch to be toyed with on a whim? I'm leaning against the stones that make up the bridge, holding my face in both hands, as if by sheer will I can stop the tears from flowing.

"The only reason I stuck with it this long was because I got an ingenious idea for Juliette's birthday present."

I freeze. No. Juliette, too?

The girl who lent me anime to watch? The girl who squealed along with me at the hot anime guys? The girl who despite her small stature launched herself into a crowd of pushing people? The girl who could sit in her room and read the whole day away? The girl who taught me to stop caring about other people's opinions on me?

She hates me, too? Were all those moments just an act, a front she put up as she laughed at me behind my back?

"I don't believe you," I snap at him, my voice raspy from tears, but my tone firm. No. If there's anything Juliette is, it's true. "She would never do anything like that! She's not like that!"

"This is her birthday present, _Pixie_," he sneers, "she doesn't know about it y—"

"I know about it now, Padriac." Juliette. She's standing behind Padriac, and I can barely catch sight of someone with her. Her eyes are cold, too cold. They aren't her eyes, are they?

Padriac spins around to face her. "You're here? Well, that saves me time in explaining it. Don't you think it's—" His words wither away when he sees her expression.

"You thought this would make me happy? You thought seeing someone crying miserably after you take her heart out and step on it viciously would be estastic with joy? Is _that_ the opinion you have of me?" Her voice is cracking, but no tears are on her face. I know how much she hates to have people see her cry.

"I know you hate the kind of person she is, Juliette. Ignorant of everyone's pain but her own, which is practically non-existent. Snobby towards everyone who isn't like she is. Horrible taste in music. Those kind of people have tried to make your life hell for years, and you don't hate her?" He's pleading with her to understand his reasoning? He doesn't know him as well as he thinks he does, I think triumphantly. It doesn't make me feel better, though.

"You know, what a twist of fate that, yes, I probably would have disliked her a lot if I hadn't read _If I Should Die Before I Wake_. I . . . I wasn't feeling up to hating anyone. So I decided to be nice to a stranger. How could I possibly know what she was like, anyway, if I just hated her off the bat. And . . . " she stops, and looks down at the ground for a moment, before returning her steady gaze to Padriac. "Her taste in music isn't that horrible. She likes Asian Kung-Fu Generation. "

Still trying to lighten the mood, Juliette? It's too late, the mood is like those huge pianos in the cartoon, just falling, ready to land on us all and squish us flat.

"Why, Padriac? When did you start thinking you were God, that you could play around with her as if she were a toy?"

"For . . . for you, Juliette. You didn't seem to notice what I thought of you, did you?" He sounds nervous, so nervous. This whole time . . . he's liked Juliette?

"I guess I was too absorbed in liking _you_?" She chuckles dryly, running a hand through her hair. The chuckle fades, and we're all quiet.

"Let's go, Juliette." It's Kristen, I realize, the person who had arrived with Juliette.

"I love you." Who said it, Juliette or Padriac? Did it matter? This was all falling apart around me. If I hadn't been such a stupid, snobby _bitch_, none of this would have happened. Peter was right. I wanted to grow up too fast. Even Juliette, even Padriac, everyone wants to grow up too badly, and this is why we trap ourselves in these mazes, with the walls made of the lies we tell and the feelings we hide and hurt we inflict.

"No you don't, Padriac. You don't even _know_ me, if you think something like this would make me happy. Pix is my friend." She walks away, away from me, despite me being 'her friend.' Kristen takes her hand, and they leave, and I wonder if my eyes are deceiving me, or if Juliette's shoulders are shaking.

And it's Padriac and me are left alone again. Everything has been put down plainly on table, and I'm lying there, my heart pumping out blood all over the cards. We don't say anything. And then he leaves, and then I leave. I hope I never see him again, because I don't know if I'll be able to hold back.

I'm shaking from anger, from hurt, as I stagger down the streets. I don't notice anything around me, at least not until the shouts cut through my broodingly thoughts. I would have ignored them if the words hadn't caught my attention.

"Faggot!"

"Peter, you're such a little faggot boy!"

"Cocksucker!"

Peter. No. No, goddamn it, this is more than I can take right now. I've had my heart split into two pieces and now they're beating up on Peter.

Peter. I think back on him, on his innocent smile, his carefree existence. He's the best of all of us. He's stuck to me, like gum on the bottom of my shoe, despite my bitchiness. I owe him.

I follow the voices, the yelps and screams getting louder, and each cry of pain makes me run faster. They're in an alley, and it's a group of five guys. I know them all. I've considered them friends, and I've gone to parties with them. But as soon as I see them, hitting the small figure splayed on the ground with sticks and their fists and rocks, I don't care. They could have been my brothers for all I cared at that moment.

I'm sick of this. Why did this happen? Peter never did anything bad at all. Sure, sometimes he was cheeky, but never spiteful, never cruel, never violent. He was like a child. Who could throw those words at him, hit him so angrily?

I throw myself into them, all fists and nails and teeth. I want to kill them, and they're all Padriac to me in that moment. I don't have a lot of strength, but the fact that Pix, one of _them_,is fighting with them is enough to make them pause. When they've stop beating on Peter, I crawl over to him. He's bleeding, and unconscious, and black and blue, and I can see the tears still drying on his cheeks. He looks like angel.

"What are you _doing_?" I snap at the five guys towering over me.

They share confused glances before one of them answers me. "He's a fucking faggot. What's it matter?"

One of the less confident guys pipes up—his name is Jim—"You're not going to _tell_, are you?"

"Of course she isn't, stupid! We _know_ Pix, guys. She wouldn't—"

"To hell I wouldn't!" I scream, facing them, rage making me see red. "You're beating up a defenseless boy who's never _done_ anything to you!" With sticks and stones and fists and bones. It sounds like some sort of bittersweet lullaby.

"He's a _faggot_, he deserves to know that what he is wrong." Thomas is saying this, and I realize how much a stranger he is. Or maybe he isn't. Maybe I've just been ignoring this side of him, this side of everyone. Even of Holly, and Hannah, and Brenda. Would they laugh tomorrow when the guys updated them on their activities of the day before?

No, they wouldn't. I was telling the police.

"He's _not_ a faggot! Even if he were, what does it _matter_? He's never lifted a finger against you!" I feel a hand lift me off the ground by the throat, and I begin gagging reflexively.

"You're not going to tell _anyone_, are you Pix?" His voice sounds sugary nice, but his angry sneer and fist say otherwise.

"Fu . . .CK . . . yo . . ou," I choke out. I would have spit on him, but that sort of thing only happens in the movies. I can barely speak. He drops me on the ground, and I think that he's letting me go. That is, before I feel the foot in my back, and the air leaves my lungs.

And suddenly they're all on me, hitting me instead of Peter, angry words and angry hands beating at me with equal passion. I feel the blood, and I'm drowning in it, it seems. It's in my eyes and I can't stop screaming.

"If you tell anyone we'll kill you."

Then they're gone and hear voices.

Then I don't see anything else for a long while.

* * *

_Where am I?_ I ask Peter, who's sitting on a cloud lazily. He's grinning easily, and all his bruises and everything is gone from his body. 

_Neverland_._ I'll let you stay here, if you want. _Neverland? My mother's invisible land, full of children and magic?

_You live here? _I'm on a cloud myself, and the fluff beautiful and soft beneath my fingers. This place is wonderful.

_Not here_._ Below_. I look down, and I see an island and a large beautiful ocean. It takes my breath away. This place is amazing. _Do you want to stay?_

I look around at the air that doesn't smell of smog and pollutants—Juliette would love it here—and down at the oceans with waves that fall onto the clean sand deliciously, and at the plants which grow strong and tall without humans trying to control them.

But I know I can't live here, this isn't my place, I don't belong here. This is a land for the innocent, for the believers. Even me, someone who's had a relatively good life, if too jaded for this place. I'm too old. I shake my head at Peter, and I think he knew what my answer was going to be. _Thank you for asking, Peter. Thank you for . . . everything_.

_I didn't do anything, Pixie. _He's wrong. He's changed me completely, and I know that when I go back home I will never be able to go back to being that same girl I was before I met him. He gave me courage, and he showed me loyalty.

_I'll miss you, Pixie. _

_I'll miss you, too, Peter. Good-bye._

The cloud he's lying on is being swept away from me, and he's fading away already, now only a smudge of green. I wave at him, although I'm not even sure he can see me. The tears are flowing down my cheeks again, but they're not so much tears of sadness, as happiness. Peter really is the best of us all.

When I open my eyes, I see the white ceiling above me, and I can hear the steady beeping of the machine next to me, reading my heartbeat. I'm in the hospital.

And then it all comes back to me, and I feel the ache in my limbs. I try calling out to someone, but my voice isn't listening to the demands of my brain. Finally, after when feels like hours, I hear a loud crow of happiness.

"She's _awake_, Jack!" It's my Granola. I close my eyes, but I can't stop the smile from spreading across my face at the sound of her voice.

A stampede of footsteps come closer and I turn my head slowly to gaze at them. I see the obvious ones, Granola, and father and brother. "What a _shame_, your friends just left, too," my father says in a nonchalant tone, but he doesn't say more about that when he starts fussing. "Does it all hurt an awful lot? I'll get the doctor if it hurts too much, okay, honey?"

"It's okay," I manage to rasp out.

Peter.

"Where's Peter?" I vaguely remember the dream with him in it—because it was a dream, I know it, my inner self just related the Peter of my mother's stories to this Peter—but I remember him lying limply on the ground much more vividly.

None of them look at me at me in the face. A feeling of dread begins to grow in my stomach.

"He's dead." Juliette is standing in the doorway, leaning against a side of it. She's trying to look casual, but one look at her red eyes disproves that. "Who did that to him, Pixie?" She's direct, and she's not shielding me from the truth. I don't know if I love her for this, or if I want to kill her for being so blasé.

"What do you think you're _doing_? She's relaxing, and she'll get asked these questions back _professionals_, once she's better." My father is so worried about me, I think with a smile. It feels nice. But this is more important.

"Their names are Jim," I have to stop and regain my breath, which causes a sharp pain in my chest, "Thomas, Harry, Niel, Christopher."

"Christopher Morrison?" My father asks incrediously. "That boy that was always so sweet towards you? That you went to that dance with last year?" I don't want to talk anymore.

Peter is dead. That one fact is weighing down on me so heavily. I should have been there faster. I should have done something more. And then he might still be alive.

"You tried to help him, Pixie, which is more than anyone else did." Juliette walks out without another word, and the rest of my family is silent.

"Rest, Pix," Granola murmurs soothingly, and patting my head with her thin, wrinkled hand. Yes, that sounds nice. In my dreams I can pretend I saved him. I can pretend I'm not a useless bit of space.

* * *

_A year later_

I'm sitting in the cemetery with Juliette, and we're sharing a bag of Warheads. I wish Peter were here. He would have loved them, and we could have scuffled with them in our mouths to see who could hold that sour taste in our mouths the longest. Juliette would have won.

Instead, Juliette buries a Warhead on the dirt over his corpse.

"How's Edward?" she asks me casually. It's our little joke for when things get too heavy.

"How's Gaara?" We chuckle.

What I really want to ask is how Padriac is. I'm over him, but eventually I got sick of his expression he wore every time I passed him in the hall. I told him to stop brooding and try to earn back Juliette's respect.

In fact, for a long while Juliette and I were a bit sour towards each other. Kristen told me that Juliette felt guilty over what happened, but that didn't make it all better. Eventually, I went over to her house and asked her to borrow some more anime. We rarely talked about it; we just pretended it never happened. That was our way of dealing with it.

And now we're here, and I talked to Padriac the week before. Forgiveness was a concept I learned from Peter. He would have never held a grudge against anyone, so I wouldn't hold one against Padriac.

He says he regrets doing what he did, and I believe him. Juliette isn't quite so sure, she's told me, but she says she's willing to give it a shot, if _I'm_ willing to forgive him.

Padriac's not the only one that I've forgiven. I visit my mother once a week now. I talk to her about a lot of things, and I think Granola's proud of me. Sometimes Mrs. Landon comes with me. My father has told me that he's talked to my mother and that she agrees that we both need a mother, especially Danny. So Mrs. Landon lives with us now, and I don't mind.

I've also forgiven myself. There really wasn't anyting I could have done. Peter wouldn't have wanted me to beat myself up over it.

And every so often I have an odd dream where we go flying through the clearest skies, and swimming the cleaning seas, and running through the loveliest forest in the world. And I feel at peace.

"I can't believe I loved someone that could something so horrible," Juliette says softly, and I almost miss it.

"He's trying to make up for it, Juliette. What _I_ can't believe you became friends with me even when I was going out with the guy you'd been lusting after for years." Even though I say this casually, I mean it. I would have hated her if our roles had been switched. She beats herself up too much, is my opinion.

She doesn't answer right away.

"The worst part about it all is that maybe I might have laughed at what had happened if I hadn't been friends with you," Juliette whispers as she pops another Warhead into her mouth. "I was so stupid. I would say I didn't like to label people, and then hated people just from one glance."

I put an arm around her, and we're silent for a long time. "It's okay, Juliette. You're not that girl anymore, and I'm not the girl that would make fun of people just because they're not snobby bitches." I chuckle, and she joins in half-heartedly.

When I think about it, not much has really changed. Juliette still hasn't changed the world, and the emo singers still write lyrics about not having a girlfriend. But at the same time, everything's changed.

For the better.

Thank you, Peter.

Fin.

* * *

**I once again thank all the reviewers of this story. How was the ending, good, bad, in the middle? Now I am off to go watch Naruto! Au revoir!**


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